


House of the Rising Sun

by SargentCorn



Category: Original Work
Genre: It's a mess of both, Medieval Fantasy, Supernatural Elements, Western, it's not meant to be super into world buiding, this is just a test run okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26672974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SargentCorn/pseuds/SargentCorn
Summary: But with a brace of rabbits in hand, and a bow on his back, very few glanced his way. He may have his hood up, but those items keep people from prying into his business too much. It was an easy assumption he would be heading back into the forests to hunt, so it’d be pointless for him to remove his hood. And that played well into his favor.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	House of the Rising Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is just an experiment, so please don't take it too seriously, but please feel free to tell me how great or shitty it is.
> 
> (And yes the title is based on the song, "The House of the Rising Sun" by the Animals. Look, titling is _hard._

Only those with uncanny hearing would pick up on the semi-muted footsteps against the cobbled street. The hooded figure doubted any folk in the town were of the supernatural. Even in a frontier town like this one, those who were blessed, or cursed depending on one’s view, with abilities beyond human capabilities stayed far away. None wanted to risk the curious eyes of simple-minded folk.

But with a brace of rabbits in hand, and a bow on his back, very few glanced his way. He may have his hood up, but those items keep people from prying into his business too much. It was an easy assumption he would be heading back into the forests to hunt, so it’d be pointless for him to remove his hood. And that played well into his favor.

He didn’t need his secrets splattered over the local newspaper and chased by several Guardians that were lazing about in the hotel a few streets down. He also wasn’t in the mood to deal with them trying to hunt his hide, or for him to have to kill them so he could live peacefully.

Whenever one Guardian was murdered or killed, three more would hunt down the killer. And that was not a hunt he longed to be in anytime soon, especially him as the prey. All he was here to do was sell his kills and spend some time at the House of the Rising Sun.

His ears picked up on the sound of hooves on cobble, the clanking of metal and squeaking of leather armors, and he glanced up to see the sheriff and several deputies ride by. He noted the duster over the smooth steel breastplate on the sheriff while the deputies wore standard leather chest plates. Their forearms were protected by leather and metal bracers, but the rest of their bodies were unarmored, ripe for a sword to sink into their soft flesh.

Locking eyes with the sheriff, he stared until the glint of metal caught his eye. To his surprise, a repeater hung in the hostler attached to the western saddle. Eyes widening, and heart speeding up, he watched a knowing smile form on the sheriff’s face.

No words passed from either party as the group rode by, and he felt compelled to run from the city and damn the idea of selling his kills. Quickly shaking his head of the thought, he spun on his heel and continued to his objective: the markets.

Smells of freshly baked bread, ripe vegetables, and mouth-watering raw meat flooded his nose, and it took all his control to not visibly inhale at the scent of raw meat in the air. While he may have the cover of the freshly baked bread to hide his purpose of smelling the air, that didn’t mean he needed to bring attention to himself still. A thought reinforced by several sheathed swords in his eyes sight alone. Frontier towns were always on a knife’s edge with newcomers.

With little presence by the Guardians in the west, the supernatural had no real competition. Once it may have been the natives, but with many tribes caged within reservations, few people were willing to challenge the packs and covens running on the outskirts of each human settlement.

Shooing the thoughts away, he held the brace of rabbits towards the butcher who paused her slicing. She took one look at the rabbits before nodding and holding out five dollars. Handing over the rabbits, he quickly pocketed the money before heading towards his next destination.

Townsfolk dressed in all sorts of clothing turned to stare when he came in. He saw a mixture of the old age clothing and the new age clothing on both patrons and whores alike. And he certainly did not miss the daggers and swords strapped to each person in the den.

With one last look around, he strode to the bartender, and everyone returned to whatever they were doing. Rapping on the wood with his knuckles, he watched the other man meander over to him. There was a mutual silence as the bartender leaned forward on the counter with his fingers splayed out.

“What do you want?” he asked arching a brow at his hooded visitor.

“Just an ale,” the hooded man replied, digging a dollar out. The bartender nodded once before grabbing a mug and filling it with the dark sloshing liquid. He placed it on the counter before sliding it over the hunter who took a sip before nodding at the taste. The other man leaned against the counter.

“So, other than probably selling some game, what brings you to this fine place, stranger?”

“Nothing much, except I heard about this place from a song I heard out on the road.”

“Ah,” the bartender hummed. “Yeah, we’ve had all sorts of strangers come in just to see if this place is what it seems.” Picking up a used mug, the man began to wash it. “So far, it’s worked enough that the authorities leave me alone about the whorin’ now.”

The hunter allowed a small smile to grace his face. “Of course, they don’t mind the gambling, but the whoring is a different matter.” A snort sounded from the bartender.

“You got that right.” Another patron swaggering over to the counter had the man placing down the mug and moving to take his order. It left the hunter by himself, but he wasn’t going to complain.

Solitude suited him perfectly.


End file.
